Undressed By The Mafia God novel Chapter 122

Chapter 122: The Fuck Was That Good

He had taken the photo casually.

He had kept it obsessively.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath.

And now she was in the next wing of the house. In his brother’s bed. Married to Luca. Carrying his last name. Wearing his ring. Being fucked by him.

His hand drifted downward to his cock, slow at first, almost absent-minded.

He exhaled sharply, eyes closing.

He imagined her hands instead of his own. Imagined her mouth forming his name instead of Luca’s. Imagined her on top of his cock, bouncing on top of him.

"Bianca..." he breathed.

This was his private torment.

Under the same roof as her, he was never at peace. Every shared dinner. Every passing touch in a hallway. Every accidental brush of her perfume in the air. It wound him tighter and tighter until he felt like a live wire waiting to snap.

He hated Luca for having her.

The worst part was knowing she would never look at him the way she looked at his brother. She played her role flawlessly.

But sometimes...

Sometimes he caught her watching him back.

Not obvious. Just enough to make him question his sanity.

His breathing grew heavier as his imagination spiraled, desire tangling with resentment.

This was what he had been reduced to.

Wanting what he could never touch.

His fingers moved faster, more desperate, chasing a release that never truly satisfied. He came hard and fast into his own hand, jaw clenched, breath sharp in the dark silence of the suite.

It had become a ritual.

Every night since he returned to Vienna.

Every night, the same restless hunger. The same frustration. The same image burned behind his eyelids.

And it never eased.

He lay back afterward, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling as the tension slowly drained from his muscles. Sleep would not come easily. It never did.

His brother was down the hall, wrapped fucking a woman he should not want. A woman he wanted anyway.

Unhealthily.

Morning came too quickly.

Breakfast was already waiting in his suite. He ate mechanically, barely tasting anything, his thoughts already drifting where they should not.

By the time he buttoned his suit jacket, he looked composed. The version of himself the world expected.

He reached for the door handle just as a knock sounded.

He frowned slightly and opened it.

Bianca stood there.

He blinked in surprise. "Bianca? Is everything okay? Did Luca hurt you?"

Her eyes widened instantly. "What? No, no. Of course not."

Relief flickered across his features, though confusion quickly replaced it. "You’ve never come to my suite before."

"I need to ask you a favour," Bianca said, holding his gaze steadily.

"What’s that?" Julian asked.

"I need you to withdraw your accusation," she said quietly, her hands folded in front of her.

Julian’s head snapped up. "Wow! The fuck was that good, uhn?!" he spat, exasperation lacing every syllable. His dark eyes flared. "You actually want me to drop it, just like that?"

"Julian, please," Bianca said again, moving slightly closer. "He is my husband. I cannot see him hurt... not by anyone, not for anything." Her eyes glimmered, filled with a tenderness that made him grind his jaw.

Dockhands moved quickly, and the faint hum of radios stitched together the rhythm of the place. Julian’s presence drew eyes, subtle nods of respect from those who knew him, the first son whose reputation was both earned and overshadowed.

He stepped into the command room, the space pulsing with energy. Maps sprawled across the walls, screens glowed with the locations of shipments and personnel.

The men around informed him his father was at the yatch.

Julian strode toward the yacht.

Once aboard, the empty space stretched before him. He walked further down and opened the door to a wide space.

At the center of the room, Luciano sat strapped into a chair, rigid, taut. His eyes were now cold, hard, and unflinching. Next to him, a battery sat ominously, wires coiled and waiting, and a bucket of water sat beside him.

Don Genovese spoke up. "We have been waiting for you."

Julian stopped just short of the chair, forcing his expression into neutral territory. "Father, I withdraw my accusation. There is no need for this."

Luciano’s head snapped up in shock. No... no... no. If Julian backed out now, it could only mean one thing. He needed Luca to owe him. The cold of his stare sharpened. "I did try to stab you," he said.

"You heard him," Don said.

"Father..." Julian began, stepping slightly forward. "We were just horsing around. It wasn’t serious. I meant—"

"No! We were not!" Luca’s voice exploded, cutting Julian off with the force of a bullet. "You called my guest a slut. No one does that. No one would do that and still be breathing. I should have stabbed you." His chest heaved. He leaned forward against the straps of the chair, muscles taut.

Julian’s hands curled into fists at his sides. "Will you keep your fucking mouth shut?" he snapped.

"You shut the fuck up! Whatever it is you want, I don’t fucking have it. So get on with it!" Luca shot back, eyes blazing. There was no fear in his voice, only the raw, unflinching assertion of dominance that had made him untouchable since childhood.

"Enough! Family don’t turn on each other. That’s my rule. You hurt family, you get punished for it. So I will ask this once and just once. Are you pursuing this fucking accusation?" Don’s voice cut through the chaos, carrying the weight of decades of absolute control.

"No," Julian said.

"You fucking pussy!" Luciano snapped instantly.

"Let him go," Don said, hand raised to command his men. He stepped closer to Julian, lowering his voice so that only Julian could hear. "He is right." Don’s lips curled just slightly, a faint smirk hidden beneath the harshness. "You are a fucking pussy. What did Bianca do, uhn? Bat her lashes at you?"

Don knew exactly why Julian had backed down. "The next time you waste my fucking time, it will be you strapped into the chair," Don finished. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.